


Rituals

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Cable (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 14:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21321886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Things change and kids grow up.
Relationships: Hope Summers & Nathan Summers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Rituals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inbox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbox/gifts).

> Request for Cable and Hope and ice cream. Probably the softest thing I've ever written.

In times of stress, difficulty, or conflict, the mind clung to certain actions or behaviours in the guise of comfort. Simple, specific things done regularly took on an almost talismanic aspect, becoming rituals, proof that one was still alive enough to seek the comfort of routine.

Nathan has always liked a measure of routine. Too much was stifling, it was true, and an over-processed regimen was too stiff-backed to hold up against the storm of a life like his without collapsing, but certain routines established a sort of baseline of wellness. 

Life is chaotic; life is doubly chaotic when you bring time travel into the mix. Triply so, he finds, when one time travels  _ and  _ is take care of a child. 

The less said about the interplay of mutant powers, wars to be fought, and the occasional superhero interaction, the better.

Rituals are the product of the creative mind turning the mundane into something special. Rituals affirm life and make it feel, in little ways, meaningful. Routine can be a frustrating thing, making days blur together with repetition, but handled carefully, it gave structure, rather than restriction. 

These private little rituals kept to oneself or between oneself and a few important people became the difference between simply surviving day to day and actually living.

One ritual Nathan's found particular joy in these past few years is ice cream.

When she'd been younger, Hope had lived for ice cream. She'd adored it from the first, shocked by the texture and the cold and the sweetness. Ice cream was a mundane treat in the 21st century, but in their time it no longer existed -- Hope had her first serving in a gas station when she was nine, running with Nathan looking for, if not safety then at least stability in the past.

She, like him, had preferred vanilla soft serve, eschewing more complicated flavours as too sickly sweet, the combination of textures often off putting as well. Like him, she was used to the disruption of a smooth base with a sudden airy crunch meaning that insects of some variety had gotten into the food. Extra protein, certainly, but never pleasant. 

Unlike Nathan, however, Hope had over the years rapidly branched out in her tastes. One of the many benefits of youth, he thinks, that kind of adaptability, the ability to overwrite old lessons with new information and comfortably compartmentalize old lessons as belonging to their specific time and place. Nathan was willing to try anything once, but when it came to food, there were many things that still made him wince inwardly and fight not to spit. Hope, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the availability of strange culinary experiences. 

Rituals change. That's part of living and growing; all things must change and adapt or else they die. Nathan enjoys observing these little changes almost as much as he enjoys the rituals themselves; they are, after all, just more signs of survival, of  _ life. _

As a little kid, part of the ritual was Hope picking things out for herself and reporting to him exactly what she wanted. Hope had always been a fiery child, bold and certain, wanting control of her own autonomy, to be able to make her own choices and know the options so her decisions would be informed. As much as he could while keeping her safe, Nathan has encouraged that mentality, and she's proven herself a perfect steward of her own comfort and happiness. 

When she was younger, they would look at all the options together, and he would explain anything she didn't immediately understand, and then she would dutifully report to him her decision after private deliberation. He would get her anything she asked -- he couldn't deny her much, and never ice cream. More often than not, for a long time, she wanted exactly what he got for himself; vanilla soft serve in a crispy cone.

Ice cream became a marker of success. He's observed this as a truth for many groups and people, not just between them; children's sports teams were often rewarded for a win or a good effort by being taken for ice cream. It's a common enough celebratory treat, and Hope took to the tradition happily.

These days, though, Hope is bolder in her decisions. It's rare she opts for soft serve, rarer still she opts for vanilla. Sometimes she eschews the cone entirely, speaking directly to the server to ask for a shake or a sundae or these decadent cups of ice cream blended with other sweet things. 

She is not the little girl staring solemnly up at him and reporting dutifully that she's made a decision. Rituals change, children grow; these are good things, important things, however bittersweet. 

Often now, she knows what she wants before they get to the counter. The ritual isn't reconnaissance and the careful weighing of simple options with his daughter anymore; the ritual is the going, the togetherness, the sense of success that comes with sitting side by side and taking that first bite. 

At the counter, Hope asks the server for a double scoop of coffee caramel chunk, turning to look over her shoulder with a grin and asking with a glance if he wanted his usual. It's different, changed, but it's good. The changes are all ones Nathan approves of, and he nods, folding his arms over his chest and standing to the side as she orders for him now. 


End file.
